


Human Nature

by razielim



Series: Merry Smutmas 2017 [13]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Anal Fisting, Anal Sex, Anal tearing, Blood and Gore, M/M, Mild Gore, Needles, Object Insertion, Prolapse, Restraints, Sewing, Spacer Bars, Suspension, piss mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-11 19:23:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12942021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/razielim/pseuds/razielim
Summary: Merry Smutmas, melodiouswanderer, sinfultrails, and shut-up-cory!Lotor’s used to being abused and treated as worthless. He’s created his entire sense of identity out of rising above. But he’s never imagined such treatment in the bedroom, and his human lover is more than happy to show him just how sweet it can be to feel broken.





	Human Nature

Lotor chokes, knees jerking in the spacer straps, and then with a great squelch, his rim comes loose from the last ridge of the helioduct and slides together to contract over thin air. He gasps, the air rattling, lungs desperate but ribs still convulsed with an apprehension that he can’t seem to shake out.

Warm, wet lube trickles down out of his ass and is wiped away with a tissue.

Shiro runs a warm hand over Lotor’s ass, and it would be comforting — Lotor’s eyes are already fluttering closed — except that almost as soon as the gesture starts, the fingertips drag over raised whipping welts, and Lotor jerks again, his spine arching.

“Please, Shiro.”

Shiro’s laughter is soft and smooth and he kisses Lotor’s rump before turning away to his assortment of defunct technology to pick out the next oddly-shaped item to go inside Lotor.

“You and I both know you don’t even know what you’re asking for.”

It’s true. He’s tired and just wants to lay his head down and drift away, but it’s uncomfortable to lower his head, suspended as he is, and he so desperately wants to see just how deep this ache can go.

His legs are back to trembling from the vibrating toy that Shiro’s fitted to his dick, and when Shiro turns back, Lotor tries to hold still, tries to show that he can play this weird human game, even if it’s breaking him apart more than he ever thought possible.

Shiro wipes away another trickle, slowly, almost thoughtfully. “Looks like the bleeding’s not stopping anymore. We must have finally nicked a more impressive hole in you.”

Lotor shudders and wonders whether this is cause for punishment, stopping, or praise. He doesn’t even know which he’d prefer. There’s a clatter of metallum, and Shiro’s hands are both trailing up Lotor’s thighs, up over his rump, past the harness around his waist, rubbing wet and slick across his shoulder blades before coming back down to grope Lotor’s ass.

“I guess this calls for a reward.”

Lotor sags in his restrains, and profound relief wars with bone-deep exhaustion for ultimate control of him. “What — what sort — ”

It’s hard to get the words out. His tongue feels neglected with disuse as if a million years pass between every time he tries to say something, and it’s harder and harder to remember how to talk, how to question. Easier to limply hang and receive.

Shiro hushes him, laying in a light spank with his human hand. The slap of skin on skin rings bright in the quiet space, and then without any further warning, there’s an intrusion at Lotor’s hole again, broad and hot and smooth, and Lotor’s mind just barely registers “metallum” before the thing wriggles and pushes its way in, kneading Lotor’s loose and unresisting tissues out of the way. Hazily, through the slip and slide of the muscles of his sphincter as they contract and loosen over the bump of knuckles and the wriggle of fingers, Lotor recognizes what he’s yielding to.

It’s a shock to the system more than any of their previous impromptu toys were, no matter how large. Lotor feels as much an emotional puppet as a physical one. He gasps softly and distantly feels the slide of a tear on his hot and shame-numbed face.

“Good boy, taking so much, so obediently.”

Lotor can’t even imagine a life in which he would struggle against this, think himself above this sort of treatment.

He would never let a Galra touch him like this. The Galra only know how to break others, but to have a human do this... After everything he’s learned about them, he realizes that this is exactly all he’s ever hoped for, simply laid out in the explicit realm of physical debauchery rather than emotional gratification.

And it’s better this way.

There’s no denying this is real.

Shiro’s fist pulls out of him with a noise like a wet rip as lubricant tears itself apart in thin air, and Lotor gapes. And doubly so, he realizes, cold air rushing into his recently vacated rectum as he remembers how to breathe and snaps his jaw shut again.

Shiro’s laughing, and it’s not cruel. That alone does more things to Lotor’s head than the obscene noise and emptiness of that quick pull.

He hasn’t had time to think on what Shiro will do next when that very thing turns out to be a breach that shatters all his conception of what is and isn’t possible. Shiro’s fist punches in, past the ring of flagging muscle protecting Lotor’s worn out tract, past that soft tissue. It triggers pleasure responses in all of the muscles underlying that tissue, too fast to be read as anything other than shock, then comes to rest too deep and too sudden to even give a sense of fullness. Lotor flails a bit, protests in words that have no form, before cutting off on a whimper.

What was this? An attempt to bring his entire lower half past all usefulness? Lotor musters up real words only a moment before the fist is pulled out again with that tearing crinkle, and what he meant to say dies again in his throat as he cries out, desperately closing knees that can’t come within two feet of each other.

“Shiro!” He supposes that counts as a word.

Shiro says nothing, and instead the fist starts to work in and out, with less velocity and more fluidity until it’s almost no more intense than any other kind of fucking, except that the unyielding form of Shiro’s knuckles must be rolled to slip past the rim, and Lotor realizes that this is _better_ than any other kind of fucking, because this is Shiro and he’s reaching deeper inside Lotor with every thrust than anything else ever could.

Shiro never talks much when he’s taking Lotor apart. He used to. Lotor asked him one night, when he lay melted and undone in Shiro’s arms, if it was because of the power rush of breaking someone else, or if Shiro breaks himself open too when he does this.

Shiro pretended to have dozed off.

Lotor’s thighs are finally easing off their protective contractions, still shaking, and he realizes his dick is still vibrating and sensitive, though he’s never been less hard and more tired. Not that it matters. None of that matters when they do this.

Shiro’s fist pulls out and moves away, but Lotor can still feel it and, with a hazy awareness, realizes he can feel more than he ought to, differently than he normally does.

He clenches, half in panic, half in confusion, but his already tired rim immediately gives up on following orders, meeting resistance.

“Beautiful.”

Lotor chokes on the humiliation that twists up his throat and prickles across his shoulders, and then Shiro is tracing the protrusion that followed his fist out of Lotor’s ass with delicate fingers.

Lotor shuts his eyes and wants to die.

His prolapse is kneaded a bit more, sending shakes and twitches up his spine and through his ribs, and then Shiro pushes it in until it's deep enough in place that Lotor can close his worn rim around it to keep it there.

Shiro pats the area almost fondly. “That won’t do, though. I was still hoping to fuck you tonight, and it won’t be quite as good if your ass is chasing me every time I pull out.”

And then Shiro abruptly stops talking.

The waver has returned to his voice.

He steps away from Lotor, his hand seeming to tremble as it slips off Lotor’s slicked ass. Lotor’s left to struggle with his own body as Shiro digs around for something on the nearby table. The prolapse is fighting for escape, and Lotor can only barely hold his tenuous control over his rim, which seems to be losing its war, slowly allowing the furled tissue pressing for freedom to slip out, one livid and inflamed roll of slick flesh at a time.

Shiro comes back and pushes it back in with brisk, steady fingers. “That won’t do. Keep it in.” His voice is steady again too.

Lotor tries again, putting all his mental fortitude into his assigned task as Shiro’s fingers toy with the edge of his rim, pinching the flesh and trying to adjust something.

Then there’s a piercing pain, and Lotor screams out, vaguely aware of letting loose his protrusion in a ripple of pleasurable flesh as all the wrong muscles tighten in shock. He’s still shaking in agony when his vision comes back to him, the muddy darkness disappearing in patches of blackest starbursts.

Shiro’s once again pushing his rectum back where it belongs, crooning softly that Lotor needs to be a good boy and hold it in for him so that Shiro can work on making him nice and tight again.

It doesn’t make any sense, and then Shiro makes a sharp movement, and Lotor roars in pain again, realizing that his cheeks and chin are soaked with tears and he doesn’t remember when he started sobbing.

“Please.”

But Shiro only shushes him and then that horrible piercing pain comes again, Lotor’s insides again spilling out in a flood of pulsing flesh. They keep going, Shiro piercing Lotor’s rim in a steady circle around his whole anus, and Lotor crying out and struggling against his restraints as much as he can as he tries to keep his grip on his own sphincter though the horrible pain. He’s nauseous and shaking all over when Shiro finally thanks him for being a well-behaved boy and sets something aside. Lotor thinks the pain is over, but then comes one last nightmarish wave of it, a horrible pressure and piercing and tugging from all around his rim. But even as Lotor breaks apart and relinquishes the last of his tenuous control over his rim, his insides stay in place.

✘✘✘✘✘✘✘

When Lotor opens his eyes, his vision is murky and he has to blink a couple times to realize that the heaviness in his lids is from recent unconsciousness.

Then he gags, pulling his face up off the floor. The cold wetness he’s been snuggling into was the metal of the cargo hold floor, awash in filth and his own urine from when he lost control of his bladder earlier that night.

He looks around groggily, his head the only part of him willing to move just yet. He’s lying crumpled, on his side, right below where he was hanging earlier.

There’s the table full of “toys” that Shiro was using, but no Shiro.

Then there’s the sound of movement from behind him, and Lotor finally tests moving his limbs to get on all fours and look over.

He doesn’t get far when his body registers the pain in his anus and he collapses back, gasping high-pitched notes and writhing in a desperate effort to relieve the pain. But even as he tries to stop the pain, his ass responds to the pain stimulus with convulsions and suddenly everything blossoms into something terrible and unbearable that blots his vision with matte spots of white and black.

There’s the soft thud of knees on the floor behind him, the warmth of Shiro’s body, and then hot hands are maneuvering his shaking, cold hips, jostling the terrible wounds in his hole, and breaking him down into a sobbing mess just from these simple touches.

“Shiro, please!” he cries through his blubbering, but he doesn’t know what he’s asking for. Maybe this time it’s too much. Maybe he still wants to know what the frontier beyond this pain might be.

And regardless of what he’d meant to mean, Shiro assumes, as always, as agreed upon, that the pain has to continue.

With a slow, unyielding, excruciating slide, Lotor’s hips locked tight in his hands, Shiro pushes in past what Lotor finally realizes must be his sew-tight asshole.

Lotor sobs harder as the pressure of Shiro’s broad dick pulls at the raw flesh, digging that string horribly into inflamed muscle.

Lotor wonders how he manages to not slip into unconsciousness, though it’s a near thing, and he realizes he’s tethered to wakefulness only by the excruciating quality of the pain.

Warm fingers slip into the crook of his hips, and there’s a firm, reassuring grip of thumbs on his backside. Lotor anchors himself to these things too.

Then Shiro sets a shallow brisk pace and nausea blossoms behind Lotor’s sternum once more.

How long it lasts, he doesn’t know, but every thrust seems to drag on for a whole minute for all the sensation that his body communicates to him — the pull of Shiro’s cockhead across the swollen rolls lining his sphincter muscles, the stinging and cutting pain where the strings dig in and slowly rip him. Lotor’s certain that he can feel the pinprick needle-holes open into slits, growing with each jostle. And yet, he can’t not notice the familiar fullness of it all, the eroticism of something so warm and twitching and alive and desirous inside him, using him. Shiro’s not quite panting, breathing in perfectly measured deep gasps that shudder sometimes on the exhale, controlling the rhythm of his hips by controlling the fluctuations of his diaphragm.

Lotor thinks it might last forever, just like this, keeping him in the deepest circle of hell where pain is the only pleasure, but then Shiro speeds up. It’s not the rhythm of a man giving himself to passion, but the pace of a man seeking to punish. None of the movement is wild or off-tempo, and Lotor’s vision blacks over before he realizes he’s screaming. His own voice and the slick sounds of Shiro’s thrusting start to fade to ringing, Shiro’s hands don’t register on his numb hips, and all that’s left to Lotor’s senses is the searing of that thread into skin and muscle, ripping him to shreds...

✘✘✘✘✘✘✘

Lotor feels Shiro’s hands everywhere. They seem to be on his thighs but also his ribs. Everything is too bright, but he forces his eyes open to find to his surprise that he’s upright, Shiro trying to buffer him into place.

His head droops down and he gets a glimpse of vibrant blue blood half-coagulated on his thighs before Shiro pulls his head upright with a gentle hand through Lotor’s hair. Just in time, as the nausea was threatening to come up again.

“Shiro?”

“Shh.” Shiro’s arm goes to the side and there’s a brief beep. The air hums and Lotor’s body immediately feels weightless, his heels lifting minutely off the ground. “You were so good for me. It’s time to get some rest now, alright?”

“Alright.” The world is going fuzzy and dark again, but that’s just as well because he’s just remembered how much pain he’s in. “Shiro?”

“Yeah?”

“Be here, when…”

“Of course. We’ll talk.”

Lotor makes a monumental effort and opens his eyes. “Kiss me. And tell me…”

There’s a sad sort of smile on Shiro’s face and it’s hurting him more than the mess that’s between his legs, but Shiro comes up on tiptoe and kisses him, just lightly enough to count, on his bottom lip.

“I love you.”

And Lotor lets it seep through him, warming him, as his mind slips under.


End file.
